TIE Fighter: Hidden Fortress
by ImperialGirl
Summary: TIE Fighter series AU. Grand Admiral Thrawn has sent the Admonitor with Voss Parck in command to the Maw to retrieve the fleet hidden there. Parck, Captain Niriz, and Commander Thelea don't find the fleet's admiral as cooperative as they might have hoped. Parck, Niriz, Daala, Thrawn mentioned only. Fair warning: not kind to the Jedi Academy Trilogy.


TIE Fighter: The Hidden Fortress

A/N: A little holiday-weekend project and some more backstory. Fits between _Turning Point: A TIE Fighter Story_ (which starts at what would be the end of _The Last Command_ ) and the beginning of _TIE Fighter: Resurrection._ Featuring, for the first time than I can recall in any of my fan fic, characters created for and from...the Jedi Academy Trilogy. You have my apologies. But if you aren't a fan of Admiral Daala, and if you _really_ didn't like poor Pellaeon's treatment in _Darksaber_ , this may well be the story for you. Yes, some things are specific Take Thats at particular characters or situations. Also, for those who were utterly heartbroken [cackles madly] about developments in _Resurrection,_ consider this a fitting salute to the fallen.

It was apparent from the moment the _Admonitor_ emerged from the twisting gravitational nightmare that was the path through the Maw that they were _not_ expected.

Voss Parck studied the scene outside the forward viewports. It was surreal: inside the maelstrom, in a gravity "eye" of calm space, a cluster of asteroids grouped together, all showing signs of habitation and work units. Around them drifted projects in various stages of completion, weapons out of a design engineer's wildest imagination, including a familiar skeletal sphere that could only be a prototype of the Death Star itself. And floating in a casually-defensive array around the station were the real reasons they had come: four perfect, practically shipyard-new Imperial II-class Star Destroyers. Even the paint gleamed, no marks of repair or battle damage on the wedge-shaped hulls. _Gorgon, Hydra, Manticore,_ and _Basilisk,_ if the information the Admiral had retrieved from the Emperor's storehouse was accurate, and those were the identities pinging _Admonitor_ 's comm system.

Of more immediate concern, however, were the squadrons of TIE fighters that been launched from the two nearest Destroyers which were racing for the _Admonitor_ like flock of starving mynocks.

"Not the warmest of welcomes, eh?" Captain Dagon Niriz was standing to Parck's right, keeping one eye on the tactical displays as they watched out the viewport.

"They haven't had visitors in several years," Parck said, "and considering what we have to tell them, it's likely to be quite a shock."

There was a soft snort from the third figure at the viewport. Mitth'ele'arana was holding the helmet of her shadow scout armor in the crook of her arm, her glowing red eyes tracking the incoming TIEs with the same calculating expression Parck knew from seeing her father in action. And hadn't _that_ been a surprise. He'd lived among the exiled and renegade Chiss of the Empire of the Hand for longer than he cared to think, so the fact they were a taciturn species by nature and the Admiral more than most was not a surprise. He had know about Thelea's existence as well, having assisted in her acceptance to the Imperial Academy, but despite half the Fleet officers and a good percentage of the Imperial Court having wondered, Thrawn had never given a moment's indication she was anything to him beyond a refugee from a Family of high standing. Never once, from the day the old _Strikefast_ had found him on the nameless world where he'd been marooned, had the Admiral breathed a word about a family of his own. Let alone a long-dead wife (clearly still a cause of some pain, and a topic Parck thus avoided with the Admiral) and a daughter he'd been forced to abandon.

"If they really haven't had any contact at all since before Yavin, we're going to be much more than a shock," she said. Her diction, like her father's, was flawless Galactic Basic, even sometimes more human than Chiss, likely a reflection of her far more conventional Naval career. She stepped around Niriz for a better view. Another difference; unlike most of the Chiss he'd met and notably unlike her father, the top of Thelea's head barely reached Parck's shoulder. She had a delicacy about her features, too, a refined quality tempered by a certain set to her jaw that was distinctly Thrawn's influence. Though rather like most human pilots with their tendency to be short, misjudging 'slight' as 'frail' was a mistake people tended to make only once with her.

Her eyes narrowed as she studied the installation before them. "How can they have supported so many crews and technical workers without supply runs? We ought to make a study of those habitats. Being able to supply a station in these circumstances without outside imports could be very useful."

Niriz chuckled, an avuncular note to the sound. "Like your father again," he said, when she raised an eyebrow at him. "Confronted with a treasure trove of weapons, and you still notice the practical side."

"Grow up where we did and you learn not to take food supplies in harsh conditions for granted," Thelea said, but with a trace of a smile. "Believe me, I noticed the weapons, too."

Parck's gaze drifted briefly to the matte-black cylinder hanging from her armor's utility belt, clipped within easy reach of her right hand. In spite of himself, he shivered a bit. _As long as our hosts don't ask questions about yours_ , he thought. Revealing she was an alien was something they planned to do slowly. Revealing that she was Jedi . . . that was another order of magnitude entirely.

The recovered records from Wayland had been oddly vague about the military commander of the installation. Descending the shuttle ramp to the _Gorgon_ 's docking bay, Parck got his first hint of why that might have been. Awaiting them was a woman in the olive-drab uniform of a Navy officer. The fiery cascade of copper-colored hair down her back was highly non-regulation and as striking as her glittering green eyes, but for shock value they paled in comparison to the eight rank squares over her heart. Parck was still adjusting to his own Vice Admiral's rank and the new authority it granted him (mostly a precaution, he'd thought, leaving someone with authority at the Hand when Thrawn had returned to the Remnant to take command of the Empire proper) and he had to remind himself he outranked this odd person with the unnerving turbolaser-colored stare.

Trailing quietly beside him like the shadow that her armor was named for, Thelea had her scout helmet in place and he couldn't see her reaction, but so far, she hadn't moved to stop him or reach for any of her weapons, conventional or . . . otherwise.

The woman admiral was flanked by stormtrooper guards, their armor gleaming white with a freshness that suggested either far too much time to polish it, or lack of any action that might dull the finish in the first place. Behind her was a man with a commander's rank plates, whose muscular frame suggested more time spent on fitness than on the bridge. Slightly behind them was, to Parck's surprise, a Twi'lek in civilian clothes. All were watching the new arrivals with a degree of interest and suspicion, emphasis on suspicion.

The woman stepped forward, her sharp features not the slightest bit softened by her smile, which made Parck feel the need for a visit to a sonic shower. "Welcome to the Maw Installation, Vice Admiral Parck." She had the almost-brittle accent of someone who might not have grown up in the higher echelons of Core society but who was trying very, very hard to sound like they had. "We're pleased to finally have contact from the outside. I am Admiral Daala, commander of this facility and the Maw Fleet. This is my second in command, Commander Kratas, and Tol Sivron, director of the Maw Research Installation."

"A pleasure, Admiral," Parck said, hoping it didn't sound like the rote response it was and that the mild astonishment didn't show through. A female commander, an Admiral, no less, and a research facility run by an alien. Tarkin's people or not, perhaps they would not be as close-minded as some Imperial factions might have been when presented with Grand Admiral Thrawn, never mind the Empire of the Hand and its confederation of races. "I only wish I were bringing better news. If you have been out of contact for almost ten years, I'm afraid you may find some of the changes in the galaxy . . . disturbing."

Something in Daala's cut-emerald eyes hardened suspiciously. "You indicated you were not sent by Grand Moff Tarkin. Has something happened to him?"

Thelea shifted just a fraction on her feet, but when Parck glanced her way she remained silent. "I'm afraid so." He looked around _Gorgon_ 's docking bay at the crew, the stormtroopers, and the very open space. "Is there some place we could speak privately?"

"Of course." Daala didn't move, though, instead fixing her gaze on Thelea's silent form just behind Parck's shoulder. "I can assure you, Vice Admiral, there is no need for loyal servants of the Emperor to require personal security here."

"A precaution," he said, as smoothly as he could . "As you'll understand, these are not always safe times even for the most devoted Imperials."

Daala didn't reply for a moment, still studying Thelea. For her part, whether it was her Jedi equanimity or the stoicism that seemed to be a Chiss species trait, Thelea didn't give any indication she even noticed the scrutiny. Finally, the woman admiral nodded briefly. "If the situation is truly so dire, then you'd best give me a full briefing immediately. This way, Vice Admiral." It was not quite insubordinate, but the tone was dangerously close. Still, this was her ship, apparently, and so Parck followed without further comment. Thelea ghosted along in his wake, two of their own stormtrooper detachment following as well. Being an Imperial class ship, the _Gorgon_ 's layout was essentially the same as _Admonitor_ 's or indeed as any other ship in their class. That didn't explain why Parck had the strange sensation of being lead deeper and deeper into a shanh's den, knowing all the time that the beast inside was hungry.

Daala's ready room was roughly in the same relative position on the ship as the Grand Admiral's command chamber, but she had outfitted the space very differently. Judging by the size, she hadn't, as Thrawn had for his art gallery, knocked down any walls, and she had pared down this particular part of the suite to almost detention-level sterility. The lack of decor and the viewport made it seem more spacious than it was, but the gleaming metal table and the matte gunmetal chairs around it were oddly clinical. Sinister, even. Parck didn't blame Thelea for silently declining the offer of a seat and remaining half in shadow behind him with their troopers.

Daala sat imperiously in the only unique chair at the table, a higher-backed, armed version of the others directly opposite Parck's seat. Kratas sat at her right hand, while the Twi'lek research director two seats to her left. Parck noted the extra distance and how Sivron's head-tails had an anxious twitch at their ends.

It only got worse as he explained the situation in the greater galaxy. Sivron didn't even bother to hide his increasingly alarm as Parck related the current status of the Empire, while Kratas's heavy brow furrowed deeper and deeper into a glower.

Daala, for her part, was still as the chiseled sculpture her beautiful but sharp features resembled.

Sivron's head-tails lashed once. "The Death Star . . . _destroyed?_ But it did work at least once?"

"Twice, as I understand," Parck said, trying not to appear nonplused. "But there was a fatal flaw in the design. The second battle station was destroyed before completion."

"And no one thought to report to us!" The Twi'lek seemed stunned at that more than anything. "If there is a design failing, it could be corrected. And to rebuild without consulting the original team . . . this is very irregular. The designers will be extremely distraught. " Parck thought about mentioning that the families of the two stations' crews, never mind the survivors native to Alderaan, would likely understand the designers' feelings, but opted to remain quiet.

Daala had remained silent through the exchange. Finally, she said, in a strangely emotionless tone, "Grand Moff Tarkin is dead?"

Given the long list of deaths and defeats, including the Emperor himself, it seemed a faintly petty point to fix upon. "I'm sorry to have to be the one to inform you," he said carefully. "We understand this was his project, so I'm sure his loss comes as a terrible shock."

"Yes, yes," Sivron said, "but the _Death Star!_ It simply wasn't meant to have a vulnerability like that."

"Commander," and Daala's voice cracked like a whip, "escort Director Sivron back to his shuttle. Director, assemble your scientists and relay this . . . news to them. The Emperor, Lord Vader, and our . . . patron are dead. I will expect a full inventory of functioning prototypes and completed projects which will be available for immediate deployment against the Rebels. Immediately, Director, or there will be consequences."

There was something in the way the Twi'lek's lekku coiled and uncoiled, and tone of his hiss of breath, an animal fearing discipline, that Prack did not like. Kratas stood up, still silent, and moved behind Sivron's seat, and the director scrambled up and headed for the door, still wringing his hands, lekku twitching.

Daala rose as well, pacing the length of the dimly lit room. Parck forced himself to remain at ease, but he felt the shift in Thelea's posture behind him. Nothing obvious, nothing that could be interpreted as hostile, but she was ready to move if she had to. He was torn between reassurance that she was here, and wishing she'd remained with her father. By now, the Grand Admiral was either in the Hapes Cluster or en route. Between the two of them, in the midst of open war against increasingly-desperate enemies rather than in the most secure of Imperial installations, Thrawn ought to be the one requiring more protection.

Parck watched Daala's predatory pacing. _Now, where did that_ "ought to" _come from?_

She finally stopped, staring at her reflection in the transparisteel of the viewport. "I suppose I knew he was dead. Not having sent any word to me for so long . . . there had to be a reason." Parck didn't say anything. Something was off about the entire situation. "He was the one who found me on Carida," she said, almost conversationally. "When he reviewed my combat simulator runs, he came looking for me. He was stunned to find a tactical genius trapped in the kitchens. But as far as the Academy officials were concerned, that's where a woman belonged. He was even less pleased when he found out my intended assignment was a meteorological station on Carida's polar cap. If he hadn't transferred me to his staff I'd have ended where all women in Imperial service do, trapped in a dead-end post and forgotten."

Parck controlled the urge to look over his shoulder at Thelea. She had not attended Carida. Her scores (and his own and Thrawn's connections at court) has placed her on Coruscant and then in fighter training. She undoubtedly had her own opinion about why a cadet female or otherwise, would be relegated to the kitchens and destined for a dead-end assignment. For that matter, and he controlled a shiver, barely, he wondered what the late, unlamented Ysanne Isard would have thought of the limits for women in Imperial service. "It must be very shocking to hear of his death," was all he said aloud, though. "To lose a commander who's also your patron is a terrible thing."

Daala turned. Parck had an uneasy, almost sick feeling at the expression in her eyes. "Oh, he was more than that to me. We were like minds, you see. Our tastes coincided in many ways."

Now Parck was sure Thelea did shift on her feet, likely an abortive step away. He found himself fighting the same urge, with the difficulty of being trapped in the chair. "Then I am doubly sorry for your loss." Had Tarkin had a wife? He couldn't remember. Not that hidden relationships were unheard of either way.

"I had always expected to see him again," she sighed, and now he could see she was watching the ships through the viewport. Automatically his own gaze fell on the _Admonitor,_ looking somehow older and drabber than her gleaming Maw fleet counterparts. Marks, he realized, of her being a combat ship that had truly seen combat. "He gave me a fleet, and a task, to keep these scientists working on newer and greater weapons to secure the New Order. Now, to think they'll have to be used to avenge him and destroy these Rebels. But of course, we will be eager to participate."

"We are of course anxious to integrate your fleet into our operations," Parck said, with the sudden sense of being on tectonically-unstable ground. "As for the advanced weaponry the Grand Admiral will certainly be fascinated to see what you've created and consider how the Empire may best apply them in future conflicts. I hope a tour of the facility can be arranged? We're of course prepared to arrange transport for the weapons and the scientists once a secure destination is established."

Daala frowned. She'd clearly practiced the expression with the goal of keeping her youthful features unwrinkled in the process. "I would assume our destination is the main battle fleet," she said. "Isn't the purpose of our return to assist in annihilating the Rebels and revenging ourselves for what they've done?"

"There are many dangers in the galaxy," Parck countered. "The Rebellion will be defeated in short order." Sooner than he'd even dared think, if all went as planned with the Hapans. If they were lucky the loss of one of their strongest allies would provoke the Rebel Senate into a quick surrender without further losses. "The Grand Admiral is conducting a campaign of pacification, not vengeance. The weapons you've developed here are to be used in his greater plan, continuing the Empire's advance into and pacification of what the Core calls the Unknown Regions. There are far more dangerous threats there than the Rebellion."

Daala's gloved fists clenched, and for a moment she simply fixed Parck with a hard stare that might have been intimidating if he had not spent the better part of two decades with the Grand Admiral. Finally, she let out a slow breath. "I am sure the Grand Admiral has his reasons," she said, "and I will be anxious to hear them once we join the fleet. Now I'm sure you'll understand I have a great deal to arrange. If you'd like, I can delegate a guide to give you a tour of the research facility."

Parck was about to accept, and paused. A nagging pressure, the kind of sixth sense he was more accustomed to feeling during a firefight, was prodding at the back of his mind. It was an entirely reasonable suggestion, the weapons were of course a major part of their mission, and yet . . . "If you don't mind I'd prefer we postpone a further tour. I should return to the _Admonitor_ and begin compiling my preliminary report." Utter nonsense. There would be plenty of time for that once they left the Maw and were in a position to transmit. But that sense of unease simply wouldn't leave him. "And of course it is your prerogative as commander here to inform your crews about this news. I'm sure you'll want them to know about the Grand Moff as soon as possible."

Flattery and distraction were apparently the right tack to take. "Yes, they should hear. Perhaps a brief memorial service would be appropriate." She sighed, that strange, distant look in her eyes again. "I can't believe I'll never see him again. He was a great man, and he understood me so well, looking beyond my being a woman in a way the officials at Carida never would have. I'm sure they still think he only took me to be his mistress. So many see my rank and assume . . . ." She gave him a narrow, sideways look. "One lieutenant learned that was not the case in a way he would never have forgotten, had he survived long enough. Tarkin overheard him, and had him arrested and placed in an environment suit with a day's worth of air. Then he was abandoned in low orbit. We calculated it would take about twenty orbits before he reentered and was incinerated, but we couldn't be sure whether his air would run out first." She sounded dreamy, like a girl reminiscing about her first day at the Imperial Court. Parck found he was holding himself very still. "With his comm channel left open, the entire ship could hear him cursing, then pleading, and finally screaming, though not very long by then. After that day, no one ever suggested I was an Admiral because I was also Tarkin's mistress." She looked back out into the Maw, a soft, thoughtful expression on her face.

Parck found his mouth was suddenly very dry indeed. Thelea had gone perfectly still, an ebony statue in her armor. Finally, he rose, cautiously. "If it's all the same, Admiral, I will see myself back to my shuttle. Please, contact the _Admoitor_ when you've had time to inform the crews and staff." He almost backed to the door, and it wasn't until they were safely back in the corridor he let out a rush of breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Thelea, moving silently beside him, kept pace easily as he started back towards the docking bay. He didn't say anything, and knew he didn't need to. Thelea undoubtedly knew as well as he did that while the ships, and perhaps the weapons and scientists as well, were exactly what they'd hoped for, there was now an unexpected complication.

One that had the potential to be very deadly indeed.

"She's insane."

Parck didn't disagree with Niriz's secondhand assessment. "At the very least, she's unbalanced," he agreed. "Not just committed to the Tarkin Doctrine, which would be problematic enough."

Niriz snorted. "It certainly wouldn't fit with the Admiral's vision, would it? And she just openly admitted to being Tarkin's mistress? Wasn't his wife a Motti? No wonder he stashed this one in a black hole cluster. They wouldn't have found that very amusing."

"I don't recall," Parck said. Strange to think how much the world of the Imperial Court had once mattered, considering what he knew now. "But Daala was certainly adamant about not having gained promotion via their . . .relations."

"A little too adamant." Thelea had removed her helmet once they were safely back aboard the _Admonitor._ She wasn't as adept at keeping her emotions off her face as her father, so Parck could see the hint of disdain there. "That nonsense about being put on kitchen duty because she was a woman, despite her so-called brilliance and acting as though that happened with any female. . . with all due respect, Admiral Parck, I don't believe you or my father had enough political clout to put me in the Academy on Imperial Center _and_ keep me at the top of my class _and_ get me into starfighter training over absolute discrimination against women. Never mind aliens."

"No, we did not," Parck admitted without embarrassment. "And while I will admit that a Navy career is far more difficult for those not human and male, I find it more difficult to believe that was her only obstacle."

"Unless that story of hers was some kind of game," Niriz said. "Testing to see what you'd do. Or making an offer to see if you were susceptible to the same sort of deals as Tarkin was."

"No fear there," Parck said, without even having to think. "Not even if were desperate. I'd be safer jumping into a cave of Velusian fur-snakes."

"Smart move," Thelea said. She was tapping her fingers on the hilt of her lightsaber. "She wasn't lying. Either that story was true or she's convinced it is. Either way, she's dangerous."

"But unfortunately, we need her ships." Parck sighed. "And the prototypes, though I begin to wonder if there's really going to be anything of use. Director Sivron was not what I expected, either."

"He was terrified." Thelea's voice was as emotionless as her father's could be. "I'm guessing that when things don't go as his Admiral wishes, there are consequences. I also suspect that's why she was so anxious to get him away from you."

"I have a very bad feeling about this," Niriz said.

"You're not alone in that," Thelea replied. "The sooner we're out of here and Father can deal with her, the better." Parck tried to imagine that confrontation, and he was not sure he wanted to be present to witness the reality.

The comm pinged, and Parck silently chastised himself for flinching. "Bridge to Admiral Parck?"

"Go ahead," he said, sitting up a bit from the dispirited slouch he'd unwittingly let himself slide into.

"Admiral, there's a shuttle from the _Basilisk_ requesting permission to dock," Comm said. "Their captain, Captain Mullinore, is aboard, and so is Captain Brusc from the _Manticore_ and Commander Lerna, the first officer of the _Hydra_. They'd like to meet with you."

Parck looked at Thelea, who only pulled her helmet back into place, and Niriz, who raised his eyebrows. "Doubt it's a social call," the captain said.

"Given what we just learned about their fleet commander? Undoubtedly not." He rose, straightening his uniform jacket. "So let's see what her subordinates have to say when she's not around to hear."

Captain Mullinore was a tall, broad-shouldered man not much younger than Parck himself, with a rather pinched expression. Brusc and Lerna had the same nervous look to them, as if they were constantly expecting something to leap out at them. It was not the sort of attitude Parck expected from officers serving in what should have been, in most respects, one of the safest possible assignments in the Empire. What they were saying, though, told him all he needed to know about how Daala ruled her fleet. The Tarkin Doctrine apparently didn't just apply to enemies.

"You have to get us out of here, Vice Admiral," Mullinore, who seemed to be the primary spokesman, was saying, after they had presented their litany of abuses at their commander's orders. It was as bad or worse as Parck had suspected, and Thelea had nodded each time he'd looked her way–the men were telling the truth. Constant drills, a full state of combat readiness, frequent 'tests of loyalty' that would have put the ISB and COMPNOR to shame, and when someone was found to be out of line, or worse to have questioned Daala's decisions in ways any reasonable commander might, beatings and torture were not infrequent punishments. Niriz had cursed aloud at that, no doubt remembering his own brush with questioning a commanding officer's decisions and even his loyalty to the Empire. Thrawn's response had been . . . quite different. "All three of us, and Commander Lerna speaks for Captain Tiryns. We felt it would be wise to leave one captain available in case she needs to speak with someone."

"A wise precaution," Parck agreed. "Are you saying you and your crews are prepared to leave the Maw with or without your Admiral's consent?"

"We're saying we're leaving with you, and if it's with her, then we respectfully request reassignment to other fleets," Brusc said. "I've never heard of this Grand Admiral Thrawn, but even an alien can't be worse than this."

"None of the crews have any confidence in her." Lerna sounded absolutely certain. "Even on the _Gorgon_ I'd bet there are more who'd like to see the back of her than not. They won't dare say so, though. Kratas is her lackey through and through."

Technically, this was insubordination of the highest order. Parck did outrank Daala, but they were assigned to her fleet. Most Imperial officers, before Endor, would have dressed them down and sent them back to their ships if they were lucky, and informed their Admiral what they'd said if they weren't. But . . . before Endor, other than Lord Vader, what commanding officer could have prompted this sort of action? (Not that anyone would have dared question Lord Vader.) True, General Haverel had made his abortive attempt at mutiny against Thrawn. But that was a far different scenario. These men were begging for help.

From everything Parck had observed about Daala thus far, he found himself inclined to give it to them.

"Obviously, I cannot promise that the Grand Admiral will make particular assignments," he said. Before Thelea or Niriz could speak, and both seemed prepared to step in, he continued, "But I can assure you that regardless of your new assignments such forms of discipline will not be tolerated. Regardless of who your fleet commander is."

Mullinore's expression was hopeful, but suspicious, not unlike an animal far too used to beatings seeing a treat offered with one hand while the other was still hidden. It was not an expression Parck wanted to see on an Imperial officer, let alone the captain of a Star Destroyer. "I'm not sure how Admiral Daala will respond to having anyone giving her orders about her fleet. We were a personal gift from the Grand Moff, after all." There was a cough that might have been a stifled laugh from Brusc, and Parck _really_ didn't like how both Mullinore and Larna instinctively cringed, as if anticipating another punishment. "I don't know she'll just accept even a Grand Admiral's authority."

"She'd better, if she knows what's good for her," Niriz growled. "The Admiral's a hard commander, but he's fair. And he doesn't expect any less from his subordinates."

"And he won't tolerate this kind of abuse." The female voice startled them all, more than it even should have, and once again Parck wondered just how horrible the punishments had been. Whether Thelea noticed or not was impossible to say with the helmet hiding her face. "This is not acceptable for a Naval officer and he will not permit this kind of . . . discipline in his fleet."

"Your bodyguard can speak for your supreme commander?" Lerna now looked very uneasy.

Parck shifted in his seat to look at Thelea, who didn't move, but Niriz said, "If the young lady says the Admiral won't tolerate it, she'd know. So do I, and so does Admiral Parck. And if you don't believe us, you can ask any crew member on the _Admonitor_. We've all served with him for years and they'll tell you the truth."

"We'll make sure that you and your crews are protected if Admiral Daala decides to be difficult," Parck said. "When you return to your ships, begin preparations for a jump back through the Maw. I'll have _Admonitor_ 's Navigation transmit the course information," and he saw the tiny hints of relief in how Mullionre's smile relaxed, the slump of Brusc's shoulders. As he'd suspected–even the captains didn't know their way out of the black hole cluster. If only Daala and those she trusted on the _Gorgon_ knew the route, then no one could try to leave without her cooperation. "One way or another, you're leaving with us. And ideally, the _Gorgon_ as well. Whether her commanders agree or they have to be confined to quarters."

Their expressions now were a combination of disbelief and delight. "You could really do that?"

Before Parck could reply, Thelea spoke again. "It would not be a problem." Parck noticed, though he suspected the captains didn't, that her hand was still resting near her lightsaber.

"If you can assure our safety, that is, our crews' and ships' safety, then preparing to leave is probably our best strategy." Mullinore seemed comfortable taking point, Parck noted, filing that reference away for his report to the Admiral. "We can present her with a completed plan, take the scientists aboard our Destroyers, and _Gorgon_ can either cooperate or not."

"Based on what I"ve seen of Admiral Daala so far, I'm fairly sure it will be 'not', unless we find a very tactful way to present her options to her," Parck said. Thelea had drifted away from the table, staring out the viewport in a strange echo of Daala's pose, but with one hand (her artificial hand, he recalled) clenched at the small of her back, something he had seen her father do on more than one occasion. She had gone very still, staring out into the cluster, but with the helmet on it was impossible to say where she was looking. Parck felt the hairs on the back stand on end. "Commander Thelea?"

Abruptly she swung around. "Parck, something's gone wrong. Or it's about to. We've got to contact the station and the _Gorgon_ , now."

"What does she mean?" Brusc demanded, but Parck was already on his feet. "What's going on out there?"

Niriz had already moved to Thelea's side. "What did you see? Or was it–this business up here?" He tapped a finger to his temple.

"Vice-Admiral, we don't have any time," Thelea said.

Before Parck could even call to the bridge (though he wasn't sure what he was going to tell them) there was a brilliant flash through the viewports and an instant later, _Admonitor_ shuddered as the blast wave and particles of debris hit her shields. Parck steadied himself on the chair while the Maw fleet officers scrambled to join Thelea and Niriz. "What happened?"

"That crazy she-mantabog blew up the Installation!" Mullinore didn't bother moderating his tone this time. "The scientists–and the prototypes!"

"What?" While the asteroid cluster wasn't completely gone, it was suddenly in a lot more pieces, many drifting off at faster and faster rates as they were pulled towards the event horizons of the black holes surrounding them. Parck had an instant to see the shattered frame of what might have been a moon-shaped space station before it twisted in the gravity waves and vanished. "Could it have been an accident?"

"The shots came from the _Gorgon_ ," Thelea said grimly, though her helmet filter negated some of the emotion. "They were carefully targeted."

"Wanted to make sure there were no survivors," Niriz agreed. "With the gravitational fluctuations, small risk of that even if someone managed to get away from the base."

Parck felt a hard knot of anger tightening in his chest. "Gentlemen, for the moment, I suggest you remain aboard the _Admonitor_. If Admiral Daala has decided to leave the Maw her way, she may not look favorably on you for communicating with me behind her back, and shuttles are notoriously vulnerable to turbolasers."

"What are you going to do?" Mullinore at least didn't sound panicked. Worried, certainly, but he was keeping his head about him.

Parck was headed for the door, Thelea and Niriz close on his heels. "I'm going to have a conversation with Admiral Daala. Hopefully, a very short one."

Daala, even in a transmission, managed to look as cold and hard as she did in person. Even the green glitter of her eyes seemed to come through. Kratas loomed behind her, thick arms crossed over his chest, and the bridge crew visible in the background looked as if they were trying very hard to look focused on their jobs. Considering the number who appeared not to be moving at all and the limited number of Star Destroyer bridge positions which could be properly attended while sitting perfectly still, Parck suspected it was an act.

"I suppose you're going to tell me that this was a terrible accident." Normally, Parck found it something of a stretch to be a stern, even threatening, disciplinarian. Leave that to the Grand Admiral, who breathed authority as if he were born to it, or even Niriz, far more a line-ship man than Parck really preferred to be. Today, though, he felt as if he might enough ice in his voice to have given Darth Vader pause.

"The Maw Installation is my command, Vice Admiral," and she sounded somewhat unclear on which of their ranks was higher, judging by her tone. "My duty includes making sure the designers and the weapons they produce remain in loyal Imperial hands. Rest assured, the designs are safe in the _Gorgon_ 's databanks, and _if_ we leave the Maw and your story proves to be true, they'll be an excellent bargaining chip with this Grand Admiral of yours."

" _If_ it's true?" Parck wished for the Chiss's deeply-instilled ability to control their tempers. "Admiral Daala–"

"You expect me to simply accept such a story on your word?" The smile did absolutely nothing to soften her chiseled features. "The Death Star destroyed not once, but twice? A few paltry Rebels destroying most of the Imperial fleet and the Emperor and Lord Vader? I may be willing to believe that the Grand Moff is gone," and he wondered with some charity if that slight hitch in her voice was real, "or he'd surely have sent for me-for the fleet-by now. But the rest of your story sounds like a fairy tale. This Warlord of yours, for all I know, wants to use the Maw resources for his personal aggrandizement. Did you think that business about not taking revenge on the Rebels would be believed, if the rest of your story were true? When that would be the only purpose left for us, destroying the Rebels as they destroyed the Empire?" She actually tossed her head so the copper-colored braid snapped across her back.

Parck gritted his teeth and out of the corner of his eye he saw Niriz clench his fists. "And if we leave the Maw and you discover I have told you nothing but the truth? How will you explain these actions to the Grand Admiral?"

"We?" Daala's smirk was downright chilling. "Who says you'll be leaving with us? I'm sure you have enough supplies you'll be quite comfortable waiting here while I see if you've been telling the truth."

"Sir!" The voice from the crew pit forced Parck to turn from the viewscreen, which at least meant he wasn't looking at that smug, sadistic expression of hers. " _Gorgon_ is targeting us!"

"Full deflectors. Forward batteries, target the _Gorgon'_ s conning tower but do not fire unless fired upon." He turned back to Daala. "You're hopelessly outnumbered. The rest of your fleet already knows what you are. No doubt most of _Gorgon_ 's crew does, too. They're only afraid to act. How many have you had beaten or thrown in the brig or spaced?"

"I maintain Imperial discipline," she said icily. "And my fleet obeys my orders. They won't answer to you."

"I would suggest you ask Captain Mullinore or Captain Brusc, but as they're both safely aboard _Admonitor_ along with Captain Tiryns's first officer." He allowed himself a very small smile. "It seems they were concerned you might not be as cooperative as the Grand Admiral hoped."

For just an instant, her lovely, cold, features twisted in a mask of pure rage. He could see her shaking from here. Her gloved fists clenched, and she said, without looking towards the crew pit, "Forward batteries, open fire!"

Parck braced himself. Nothing happened.

Daala, her face flushing, spun on her heel, but she was loud enough he could still hear her. "Crewman! I said fire now!"

Parck could see the uneasy shifting of the crew in their seats, the deck officers wavering from foot to foot. Finally, a young man with a lieutenant commander's rank plate said, "Admiral, with all due respect . . . ."

"Kratas!" Daala's voice has a shrill edge it hadn't before. "Deal with him, and the rest of you, obey your orders or you'll–"

She choked off mid-rant, and the bulky commander, who'd been reaching for his weapon, froze mid-step. For an instant he thought the communications screen had frozen, but then he saw the lieutenant commander take a startled step back, and the crew turning in their seats. And though Kratas was turned away, Daala's face was still visible, twisted with impotent rage.

Parck realized _Admonitor'_ s bridge had gone quiet as well, except for an amused chuckle from Niriz. "Well done, young lady," the captain said, sounding very pleased with the situation.

Parck turned to Thelea. The helmet still concealed her features, but it was tilted as if she were looking down, and her right hand was extended towards the screen, fingers half-curled. "I suggest someone disarm them and take them into custody," and her voice had a distracted, distant quality. "This is not as easy as it looks."

Mentally pushing aside a shudder, Parck turned back to the screen. "Lieutenant Commander–what's your name?"

"Phorcys, sir," the young man said, still watching Daala and Kratas, half disbelieving, half fearful.

"Disarm Admiral Daala and Commander Kratas and arrest them both immediately. Don't be concerned about their current . . . condition," he said, with a sideways look at Thelea, who hadn't moved. "They're merely restrained. But I suggest placing both in binders. Commander Kratas is to be placed in detention. Have Admiral Daala transferred to the _Admonitor._ I'd prefer to keep a closer eye on her. Are you senior officer on the bridge?"

"Yes, sir." Phorcys gestured to someone, and troopers moved in. Whatever Thelea was doing, Kratas and Daala's arms did give enough they were able to twist behind them.

"You have temporary command. After the prisoners are secured, begin preparing to leave the Maw. And prepare a records dump–I want copies of the ships' logs and computer files, including anything taken from the research installation and especially anything pertaining to its destruction. The Grand Admiral will be very interested in reviewing those." He watched as the troopers checked the binders. "I believe they're secured."

"Indeed." Thelea's shoulders sagged just a bit, and Kratas lunged against his restraints while Daala shrieked:

"You can't do this! I'm an Imperial flag officer and this is _my ship–"_

"Not anymore," Parck cut her off, as the troopers began to drag her towards the lifts. "End transmission." Turning to Thelea and Niriz, he finally allowed himself a grimace. "That could have gone better, but then I suppose it could also have been a great deal worse." Hesitating, and looking around, he switched to Cheunh, hoping she didn't take too much offense at the accent. "Thank you, Mitth'ele'arana. You prevented a possible disaster."

Something in how her shoulders twitched suggested she'd stifled something, a smile or even a laugh. But her tone when she spoke (in Basic, to his relief) was still faintly distracted. "Perhaps. I think we should go meet our new passenger, though. Something still doesn't feel right."

"What could she possibly do now?" Niriz, at least, spoke with unqualified relief.

"I don't know," she said, starting for the lift, and in spite of himself Parck fell in beside her. "That's what worries me."

Daala did not look any more cooperative as she came down the shuttle ramp, a stormtrooper to either side. "You can't do this," she hissed, the serpent-green eyes blazing with hate as she stared at Parck. "I'm an Admiral of the Imperial Navy–"

"Because you caught the eye of a powerful man, not because you earned it through the ranks," Parck cut her off. "And even if you had, you'd be fortunate to have any rank left at all when the sort of discipline you indulge in came out."

"There's not an officer in the Grand Admiral's fleet who'd serve under you, not after what we've heard from you own men," Niriz said. "That's before your little stunt with the researchers."

"Fools and traitors, ready to run off after more fools and traitors," she hissed. "If this is what the Empire's come to it's a good thing the Grand Moff didn't live to see it. But I can make it right, starting here!"

The next part was so fast Parck couldn't entirely process it until it was over. Somehow, her hands came up, the binders dangling from one wrist, and she kicked out sharply at one of the troopers and yanked away his E-11. Swinging it around, she brought it to bear on them before Parck had time to think about ducking or reaching for his own sidearm. Niriz cursed, her finger moved on the trigger-

There was a fluid blur of black and a distinctive _snap-hiss_ sound. Daala's blaster fired and at the same instant a red beam swung between Parck and the oncoming bolt. There was a crackle of energy connecting and then Daala fell back. He couldn't understand why, until he saw the smoking burn hole on the center of her uniform blouse, and Thelea stepped back, the glowing red lightsaber still at the ready. The trooper whose weapon the now-dead Admiral had seized retrieved it, while the other crouched briefly and then said with typical stormtrooper brevity, "Dead, sir."

Thelea stepped back, deactivating the blade, and reached up to pull her helmet off. Her face was as impassive as ever, but Parck thought he detected just a slight twitch of a muscle in her cheek. "That was unfortunate," she said. "I apologize, and I'll explain to Father what happened. I'm sure he'd have preferred her alive."

Niriz snorted. "Maybe so. But see here, young lady. You can bounce blaster bolts off that saber of yours and put them anywhere you like. I've seen you do it, even if the Admiral here and your father haven't."

Thelea watched the troopers heft Daala's lifeless body by the shoulders and drag her away, and she shrugged. "Perhaps in the tight quarters and with so many close by, I couldn't take the risk," she said. "Or perhaps I thought someone foolish enough to try what she just did might be dangerous enough to try something similarly foolish with Father. And perhaps, just perhaps, he might have been overconfident enough to give her the chance." She looked down at her gloved left hand and flexed as if the limb were something alien. "He might be willing to take risks with his life. I'm not always willing to let him."

"And perhaps I agree with you," Parck said. "But I won't be sharing that particular line of reasoning in my report."

"He'll figure it out on his own," Thelea said mildly. "You know he will."

"He always does," Niriz added. "But maybe this time he'll be inclined to overlook your excess of concern, as we did still get what we came for."

"True." Parck allowed himself a smile. Four Star Destroyers, the records of the Maw Installation, and four Star Destroyer captains (one newly minted) and crews who'd be only too grateful to be out from under a tyrant. After Admiral Daala, Grand Admiral Thrawn would be a welcome master."Well, let's see about getting our new fleet prepared. As soon as they're in order we should be going. I believe we're expected in the Hapes Cluster."


End file.
